“And instead of saying all of your goodbyes
Let them know you realize that life goes fast
It’s hard to make the good things last
You realize the sun doesn’t go down
It’s just an illusion caused by the world spinning round”
Steven Gregory Drozd / Wayne Michael Coyne
On Tuesday I went for a 10k run with Ray and we treated ourselves to a coffee and half a lemon donut each from the CoffeeDoc. There are lots of reasons and motivations for running. Therapy, mindfulness, fitness, defying old age, or general masochism. But if Ray and I were honest , I think we’d both say that we run for donuts.
We bumped into Mrs.McConnon at the CoffeeDoc. We’d passed her earlier out in the Park, near Lady Rossmore’s cottage, and remarked that she was walking faster than we were running. She asked how I was and marvelled at us training for the marathon and wished us well. When we finished our coffees and went back to work Mr.McConnon was in our yard with one of his trucks collecting stuff to deliver to one of our customers. I chatted to him and said that I’d just met Mrs.McConnon out in the Park. He said that she was always asking him to take things easier and spend more time in the Park. I replied that people generally said that I spend too much time in the Park and should be at work. He said that he loved being busy. I said that I love being in the Park.
I took a selfie of us and posted it on Facebook with this comment :
“I think I was 18 when I first asked Mr.McConnon to deliver shoes for me to JFK Sports, Banana Republic, Marathon Sports, McCabes, and DV8 in Dublin.
All those shops are closed now. We’re still working together…a mere 39 years later.
People think that one of us will never retire and that the other already has. Can you guess which is which ???”
No one picked Mr. McConnon as the retiree.
Some people referred to Mr. McConnon as PJ, or Pat Joe, and asked why I still called him Mr. McConnon. Mr. McConnon himself has given up asking me to call him PJ, I just can’t. I think it’s an old respect thing , tied perhaps to knowing him even before I left school…Mr. McConnon also had buses back then , going daily from Monaghan to Dublin and back, and we were frequent users of the Friday 2.15pm bus to Dublin, and the Sunday evening return. That time Micky and I went to see The Pogues and took 10 trays of beer with us for the lads at college, we travelled on McConnons bus.
Two days later Pat McCabe rang me out of the blue. He had owned one of the shops I’d mentioned in my post. I never called Pat ‘Mr.McCabe’. We were closer in age and from the first time we met were friends. Pat and his long suffering wife, Ellen, whom Pat always refers to as ‘my first wife’, were at our wedding. He’s the guy I travelled the country for helping ‘Santa’ get a Buzz Lightyear for his son Patrick, who’s now a doctor. Pat and I can go a few years without any contact and then either bump into each other somewhere, or seek each other out. Now , when I look back, at different times in my life , usually when there’s a wee crisis, Pat appears, like the shopkeeper in Mr.Benn , for younger readers, and Yanks, Mr. Benn was a cartoon on the BBC in the 70’s. In every single episode Mr.Benn was invited to a fancy dress party and went to the ‘shop’ and when he tried on his costume he was transported to the era of the costume. He would have a 2 minute adventure and at the end the shopkeeper would appear to direct him to a door and when he entered , he was back in the shop. They made 12 episodes which were repeated two or three times a year at the lunch time slot for over 20 years.
Anyway, Pat seems to appear when I need him.
A few years ago we were both on our cancer adventures and we kept in more regular touch. We talked openly and honestly, with large chunks of bravado and a healthy dose of nostalgia. And we kept promising that we’d meet up when our treatments were over.
I tried to arrange a visit a few times, but those treatments can batter us up a bit and Pat didn’t feel up to it, and I got a sense that he didn’t really fancy meeting and maybe going back over what we’d been through. I understood.
And then a couple of months ago he sent me a dreadful book with a note, “Read this , laughed a lot, and thought of you. Catch up for a coffee ?”.
The couple of times we’ve tried to meet since have been scuppered by weddings, Kerry , and our respective kids. So he rang me to catch up.
We chatted for a very short 40 minutes. We talked about the old ‘mad dogs of retailing’ days, about our kids, and about our health. He mentioned survivor’s guilt. We both knew people who were undergoing treatment at the same time as we were who weren’t as fortunate. He said that he felt some guilt talking about his journey when others didn’t make it as far. I understood what he meant, but don’t feel the same. The two people I was closest to, apart from Pat, during my treatment were Tadgh and Denise, both of whom I’ve written about, and still cherish. I feel no guilt that I’m still here, but I do feel an obligation to both of them to have a bloody good time , to annoy all of the right people, to dance badly, to bunk off in the middle of the day, and like they both did, smile a lot, and make others smile.
Pat said “You know you owe Eileen a lot.”
“I know.”
“No , you really do.”
“I know.”
“Seriously though, you do. It was tougher on her than it was on you.”
“Yes, Pat , I know.”
“She was there every step of the way, keeping you going and….”
“Yes Pat, I KNOW ! I was there ! But yes , you’re right. And , Pat, you owe Ellen a lot.”
“I Know.”
“You let her down Pat.”
“What ?”
“After her initial coming to terms and initial grief, I’d say she was looking forward to cashing in all of those policies you have, and spending summers on the Cote d’Azur being chased by fit young fellas. You deprived her of that.”
“Fuck off Paul !” he laughed.
We chatted a bit more and promised to meet for dinner before Christmas. He asked me to pass on his regards, and deepest sympathies to Eileen.
When I was driving home I put on the best playlist in the world , and the Flaming Lips ‘Do You Realise’ came on randomly. And then later while I was trying to pick some winners for our Drumlin Giants storytelling competition, a note popped up that Willie Nelson has just released a cover of that Flaming Lips song, which I played immediately. I listened to it on repeat while I read through 89 kids stories about robot giants, treasure maps, secret portals, large red buttons, and chests of gold and diamonds.
Then a video popped up of Wayne Coyne and Steven Drozd , who wrote the song, talking about Willie Nelson’s version, how proud they were of it, how beautiful Willie’s version is, and Steven is holding back tears the whole way through. And I must admit, as I read the kids stories, where they’ve taken our stories of the Giants and used them in their own stories…I had a slight hay fever attack…very dusty…
And the point of it all is ?
There is no point.
That’s the point.
Toodles,
Paul
P.S. For Pat and Mr.McConnon
